The Bright Side
by justcrazykids
Summary: While Dean loves Sam more than anything on the planet, he can't help but feel jealous and bitter since his departure to Stanford. That was three years ago. But when an old friend calls Dean saying that Sam's been critically injured, will he push aside his feelings and go to his brother's side? A story of an unlikely reunion and a family desperate to heal, forgive, and get justice.
1. Selfless

**A/N: **- spoilers: this story is au, but based off of the end of the pilot

- pairings: Jess/Sam (mentioned and implied)

- t for swearing. many uses of some colorful words.

- disclaimer: i don't own these lovely gents and that's a tragedy for me.

enjoy (: xx

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The Bright Side

_Those who often get the most enjoyment from life_

_are those who help others,_

_those who put aside their own problems_

_to help a friend._

_Bobby Singer_ is

The old television in Bobby Singer's bleak, yet humble living room comes to life as he kicks off his heavy boots, reclines on his favorite old chair, and takes a long swig of Jack Daniel's own. It's early, only around 9 a.m., but it's never too early for alcohol in Bobby's book. Besides, he's had a long, sleepless night spent searching for a way to break a complicated Indian curse for some dumbass who thought it'd be a good idea to pick a fight with a damn tribe leader whose ancestry dates back to before Columbus.

But he can't be too mad; it's about the most action he's had in a decent while. See, Bobby's been relaxing the past two weeks, occasionally stumbling on hunts (it's not _his _fault that he seems to be to be on every hunter's speed dial!) and passing them on to other hunters in the area. And this little break is saying a lot because Bobby doesn't take vacations… _ever._ He's always preferred to call them extended holidays, and for what it's worth, he dislikes them as much as the inconvenienced hunter's dislike being directed on a hunt by someone they know to be perfectly capable to take it on.

Truth be told, Bobby is just stressed. Well, to be even more truthful, Bobby is constantly under stress. It's the job, hunting the creepies and the crawlies that nobody else should, would, or could be bothered with.

The stress alone is easy enough to deal with. A couple of shots, a bottle of practically anything so long as it numbs him, but not so much as to leave him incapacitated, occasionally the pop of a few sleep-inducers, just to put his mind at rest for a little while… literally. The remedies work, they always have and so long as hell doesn't freeze over, they always will.

But sometimes, the remedies just aren't enough. This past hunt hit too close to home, punctured a wound that was still so raw even after all of these years.

_"Damn idjit, I was startin' to think you were showing me up."_

_"You'd better be grateful I didn't, I've just about lost count of all the girls I've left broken-hearted."_

_He flashes his signature smirk, one that breaks Bobby's heart because of how different and forced it is from the last time he'd seen it. Even after three years, the kid never got over watching his brother leave for the life he'd always wanted, the life the wasn't hunting and the life that wasn't spent co-piloting with his big brother._

_ "Yeah yeah, let's just get this over with. Demons are nasty sons-of-bitches and it only takes a minute for things to turn ugly."_

_ "Right, like two gutted civilians isn't ugly," Dean snickers. "You have the address?"_

_Bobby pulls out a wrinkled post-it with smudged black ink. "Let's go kick some black-eyed ass."_

_This time with a smile that almost reaches his eyes, Dean folds back into the Impala, Bobby hesitantly following suit because they never specified on whether they be sharing a car or taking two separate vehicles. _

_Dean starts the car up, not questioning Bobby's presence in the passenger seat that had remained empty for the better part of three years. Leaving the pick-up, the motel, and the lights of the small Minnesota city, they speed down an increasingly patchy, rural road._

_Suddenly breaking the comfortable, yet equally tense silence, Dean speaks. "It's been a long time since someone's ridden shotgun, ya know." His voice isn't accusing or angry, for which Bobby breathes a sigh of relief. He'd been walking on thin ice in asking Dean for help after the blow-up that ensued with his father two years earlier. It would be a damn shame to get the kid angry at him for such a simple thing as riding shotgun in his car._

_The thing that makes Bobby keep his trap shut is how lost and… bitter Dean's tone is. It's clear as a summer's day that Dean didn't get over his brother's blunt resignation, but now is he taking on a new emotion to accompany that grief? Anger? Jealousy? Bobby doesn't know and he's sure as hell not asking either. He just hopes that he'd never blame the kid for wanting out. _

_They reach the two story house in only a few minutes of trying to find street signs among the vast wilderness of rural Minnesota. Dean's out of the car a millisecond after he's parked her. He fumbles with his keys and quickly shoves one into the key slot of the trunk. Bobby's barely out of the car as Dean tosses him a rifle loaded with rock-salt and then a .45 loaded with plain 'ol iron. _

_When Bobby is equipped, Dean pulls out his Taurus and a small bag which Bobby assumes to hold Holy water and exorcisms. He digs around for another moment and pulls out a small dagger. He tucks it into his boot and closes the trunk._

_Just as the two begin their trudge up to the house where a demon had reportedly been squatting, a blood-curdling scream rings out. Bobby and Dean look to each other, confused expressions dawning both of their faces. There was no mention of a civilian involved. It was just a demon crouching in some poor woman, using her to kill senselessly. Although the police hadn't caught onto her, it didn't take much for a hunter to piece together demonic omens and unsolved murders._

_The two men venture on, quickening their pace as to save the sorry bloke who'd managed to get himself holed up with a demon. Before they know it, they're kicking down the door and cautiously side-stepping down the hall of an old, 20__th__ century house._

_The yell sounded again, but this time it sounded considerably more terrified and desperate. Dean pointed to a set of stairs, pointing upwards directing that the yelling came from the second story. Bobby nodded and pressed on._

_They climb the stairs carefully, trying to make as little noise as they possibly can. The task is easier said than done however; the stairs are old and creaky and one wrong step could give them away in a heartbeat. _

_As they ascend the stairs, a few words become distinguishable from somewhere amongst the second floor._

_"Baby please don't!"_

_"Oh, but darling you'll look absolutely delectable turned inside out!"_

_"That isn't you talking, Karen, that's not you!"_

_Bobby freezes. Karen? His wife was a Karen. And she was possessed too, right before he had to…_

_"Why of course it's me! My heart may not be in it, but it's still me!"_

_"Karen, please. Fight this!"_

_Bobby winces. That sounds like what he'd said, all those years ago…_

_Dean notices Bobby's discomfort, but doesn't question it; there's no time. Without missing a beat, the two hunters have scouted the upstairs and found the room in which the demon and the captive are._

_Dean kicks in the door without warning and Bobby trails him into the room, guns cocked and at the ready. The sight that greets them is shocking, disturbing, and downright heartbreaking in the worst of ways._

_A man (no older than the youngest Winchester, Dean thinks absentmindedly) sprawled stomach-down on the ground in a camouflaged uniform surrounded by a pool of blood, clutching a small black box and trying unsuccessfully to fend off tears, stares at a woman (presumably Karen) who wears a virgin-white dress, smeared in blood and a wicked grin._

_"Should've known we'd have company, Samuel darling." _

_The chill that passes down Dean's spine is involuntary and Bobby looks at him with a god-awful pitied expression. "Let him go, you stupid bitch."_

_"Dean Winchester, touchy touchy, are we?" _

_Before he and his older ally can be pinned to a wall and mutilated like the poor bastard on the floor, Dean retrieves his flask of Holy water and flings a stream in the path of the demon._

_It shrieks and sinks to its knees, but clearly far from being deterred, it rises and sends Dean flying before he can begin reading from the exorcism he'd pulled out. Bobby pulls the trigger but the evil sonuvabitch dodges it with grace and has him sent face first into a book shelf before he can get off another round. His gun skitters to the middle of the floor as he crashes into the wall of books. _

_"Dammit!" Dean shouts, fighting to get off of the wall the demon pinned him to. _

_Seeing that Bobby would likely be out for the count for a while, the demon turns its full attention toward Dean. "Not so strong without our little brother for back up, eh Dean-o?"_

_"Shut – the hell up," he breathes dangerously._

_"You see, I can't do that, sport. And you should be grateful for that. Consider it a privilege to spend your last few minutes reminiscing about your greatest ally… and your worst enemy."_

_Coming back to it, Bobby feels his stomach drop. No, not about the 'last few minutes' part. Bobby knows that they'll get out of this, they always do. His stomach churns uncomfortably at the whole 'greatest ally and worst enemy' thing._

_Even with his muddled thoughts, Bobby knows the conversation sure to proceed will either break Dean or make him release all of his pent up anger… and on the wrong person._

_The silence is a good sign, Bobby thinks. It means that Dean isn't willing to accept the demons taunts and it gives Bobby time to find his legs so he can blast the evil prick before it can do any more killing._

_Its only when the silence is broken that Bobby realizes that he'd better start finding his legs damn soon._

_"Dean Winchester, you confuse me. And being who I am, that is very rare. Consider yourself flattered."_

_"Fuck you," Dean mutters, refusing to meet the demons searching gaze._

_"How can the one you love unconditionally be the one you despise with a passion? How can you both admire and dislike a person? How can your emotions completely contradict each other?"_

_"S-sam," he starts. Bobby realizes that it's the first time he's heard the older Winchester say the name since he left for college. "-is my brother. And I could never hate him." _

_"But you already do, kiddo. It's been ever-growing since he was born and ever since he left, you just can't seem to stow it away like you used to."_

_"Shut up."_

_"Am I right?" The demon smirks. "Struck a nerve, did I?"_

_"I said, shut up!"_

_"Just admit it, you've always been jealous of him, Dean. Always envied him for having what you couldn't. Always resented him for choosing normal over you any chance he got."_

_Dean eyes are cast downward, unblinking. He's not denying it, Bobby thinks. He isn't denying that he hates his own brother. The thought makes his blood run cold. _

_Bobby knows that the demon won't preserve their lives much longer and he curses his damn rickety bones for being so unreliable in situations like these. He's got to get up and save-_

_A shot rings out and crimson red stains the moon-lightened walls. Bobby looks to the shooter, amazed and honest-to-God impressed… and depressed._

_Samuel is kneeling, Bobby's dropped .45 in hand, trembling to the bone. A dark plume of smoke arises when the metal is lodged in the woman's stomach and the demon gives one final cry before escaping the scene. Thank God for iron casing._

_The woman, Karen goes down with a thud and simultaneously Dean drops from the wall he'd been pinned to. He looks shell-shocked to say the least, but Samuel's cry attracts all of the attention in the room. "Karen!"_

_She lies facing the ceiling, eyes glazed and half-closed. "Karen, please. Please baby."_

_"Sam, I killed people-" she stops and violently coughs. "It made me kill. You stopped it."_

_By now, Samuel was at Karen's side, his hands clasped around hers. "Karen it wasn't you. It wasn't you baby."_

_"It was… but you stopped it. Thank you… so much."_

_Her eyes begin drifting shut and her pants for breath become more frantic. Bobby feels the tears welling up in his eyes; this is all too damn familiar._

_"Wait, please baby wait." Samuel darts to where'd he'd been attacked earlier and retrieves the small black box. He's back by Karen's side in a short second._

_Blearily opening her eyes, Karen shoots Samuel a tired, but curious glance. "What's that?"_

_"When I came home, I was… I was gonna propose to you."_

_A small gasp passes through Karen's whitening lips. "Yes."_

_"You'll marry me?" He doesn't bother to keep the tears at bay._

_"Of course, Sam." _

_He slides the ring onto her slender finger, trying not to notice how cold she'd become. "Karen, I love you. Stay with me. Please." His voice broke on the last word._

_"I can't." Her breath is no more than a gasp, barely audible and rough. "Sam… I love you. No matter what."_

_With that, the light in her eyes is gone, her body has gone cold, and her heart has ceased to beat. And for a short minute, Bobby swears that his might too._

_The rest of the night is a blur mostly, if he's being honest. Dean hurriedly explains to Samuel what exactly happened to his girlfriend, not bothering to sugar-coat things and teaches him basics on how to defend himself should the thing come back. Neither was really paying attention. Samuel's mind was on everything he just lost and Dean's mind was on the demon's words. Bobby remembers being coaxed into a chair to rest until they could leave, and soon enough, Dean was ushering them out into the brisk night. _

_With an ambulance on the way and undoubtedly police officers as well, the two hunters take off at the speed of light, neither feeling up to exchanging any words._

_They arrive back to their starting point. Bobby silently gets out of the passenger seat and wordlessly bids Dean goodbye._

_He watches Dean drive off and finds himself standing out in the middle of a motel parking lot, remembering that one day that changed everything so long ago. That one day that he lost his world. _

_That one day became somebody's today. And Bobby couldn't stop it._

_With his mind in a tizzy, his heart in his throat, and his stomach in a knot, Bobby packs his belongings, settles himself into his truck, and drives home, eager to drink himself into a comfortable oblivion, if only for a little while._

Bobby sips his beer, mindlessly staring at the television. It's some damn news program, rambling on about how the world is slowly going to hell. Bobby gives a bitter laugh; for once the media's got it right.

But the program is too… well, he'd use the word crazy, but crazy seems to describe what he sees routinely. Nah, this is just plain nutty. With a flick of his wrist, he's got on another channel, not surprisingly, another news channel.

Bobby contemplates changing the channel to something that could actually pass as entertaining, but the headline that flashes across the screen catches his attention in the worst of ways.

'Massive Palo Alto fire involving three Stanford students leaves one student dead, one injured, and one missing.'

"Shit!" he barks.

Bobby stares at the television, a knot forming in his gut. Suddenly, a wave of self-stupidity passes through him. "Thousands of kids at that school," he mumbles. "No way it'd be Sam."

Despite the better part of his judgment, something didn't sit right. Something feels off. So he keeps on the news channel and waits for the headline to get its turn in the spotlight.

Then finally after relentless minutes of overpaid reporters rambling on about things as dumb as pop-culture, the issue of the Palo Alto fire was on the discussion board. Bobby fishes for the remote and turns up the volume.

"Three nights ago, a beachside apartment on Sycamore Boulevard went up in spontaneous flames, leaving one dead, one injured, and one missing. The exact cause of the fire is yet to be determined, but police suspect foul play. No suspects have been determined yet, so if you have any information on who may have been responsible for this tragedy, you are encouraged to come forward."

Impatiently, Bobby shakes his head, scowling at the reporter. "Names," he grumbles. "Give me names."

As if she'd heard his demand, she continues onto the personas of the victims. "Through family identification and dental records, it is determined that the only person killed in the fire was Jessica Moore, a junior at Stanford University."

Eyes widening, Bobby tries to fight off his impending urge to be sick. He'd never found out the girl's last name and there's gotta be tons of different Jessica's at that school, Bobby rationalizes. No way it can be…

"The other victim who has been placed into the intensive-care-unit in a nearby California hospital has been confirmed as Sam Winchester, also a junior at Stanford."

With that, Bobby's jaw promptly hits the floor. So does his bottle of Jack Daniels.

He shakes his head, willing it that he heard wrong, that his brains are scrambled and that that damn reporter did _not _just say that Sam Winchester, the boy he's known since the kid was just a tot, was in some damn apartment fire that killed his girlfriend and left him in the ICU.

His hope for his own madness dissolves as a picture of an older, leaner, but still entirely familiar Sam flashes on screen.

"Please, if you are of relation to Sam Winchester, call this toll-free hotline…"

Mindlessly, Bobby pulls out his phone and dials the number on the screen. Immediately, a dispatcher picks up the receiving end. "San Francisco General, how may we help you?"

"My… my nephew, Sam Winchester. I just heard that he was in a fire and that he's in the ICU. Is that true?" He can't seem to keep the agonizing fear from creeping into his voice.

"He's your nephew?"

"Yes." Bobby doesn't hesitate. Hesitation means suspicion.

"Thank God, I was starting to get the feeling that he was an orphan. But… yes. He's in critical condition and having the support of a family member would be greatly beneficial to him right now."

"I can be out there by tomorrow," Bobby replies immediately.

"Okay, I'll let the doctor know that you'll be arriving."

"Thank you." Bobby pauses, hesitant to ask his next question, but more hesitant for the answer. "He's gonna be okay, right?"

"Mr. …"

"Singer. Bobby Singer."

"Mr. Singer, Sam arrived in bad condition, but our medical staff was able to patch him up. What we're worried about is his mental health, knowing what he's just gone through."

Bobby sighs, the worry still not dissipating an ounce. "I understand."

"We'll be awaiting you're arrival, Mr. Singer. Oh, I almost forgot!"

"Yes?"

"I really shouldn't be asking this… but the staff is beyond curious. Why aren't Sam's other relatives answering?"

For the second time in a day, Bobby's jaw is on the ground. "W-what?" he stutters.

"Yes, we've been trying to get a hold of both of his emergency contacts, John Winchester and Dean Winchester. Neither of them are responding."

The anger that flows through Bobby's veins is enough to overpower the fear and the anxiousness instantly. He can't even believe his ears.

"I- I don't know," Bobby replies, trying to keep his temper under control. At least until he can hang up the damn phone. "I'll try to reach them."

"Okay. Thank you Mr. Singer, we'll see you shortly."

After immediately hanging up, Bobby proceeds to pick up his previously dropped bottle of alcohol and throw it at the nearest wall, where it shatters into small shards.

"Damn idjits!" he shouts, loud enough for the whole state of South Dakota to hear.

The next hour as Bobby packs a few essentials before making the trip to California, he rehearses how he's going to verbally murder each of the Winchester men. Every few seconds, a new obscenity would slip out of his mouth and into the atmosphere, searching for its target.

Fixing the salt line and locking the front door, Bobby draws his cell phone from his pocket. He scrolls through his contacts until 'Dean' in bright blue letters, along with his number, are the focus of the screen. Making a deal to hoist himself and his duffel into the cab of his truck, he presses the call button and prepares to rip Dean a new one, and that's just by a cell phone conversation.

_selfless._

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**A/N: **i hope you enjoyed the first part of 'The Bright Side'! it's my first attempt at writing Supernatural fanfic, so if you have any tips for me, they'd be greatly appreciated! thank you and stay-tuned for part two (: xx


	2. Brotherly

**A/N: **same notes from the first part apply to part two as well! another a/n will be at the bottom! enjoy (: xx

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The Bright Side

_Although family is difficult,_

_those who love their kin unconditionally_

_tend to be protected_

_from ever fighting alone._

_Dean Winchester _is

"Son of a bitch," he mutters as he hears his cell blaring from across the room. It's too early for this shit.

Reluctantly, Dean pulls himself out of bed and carefully treks over to where his cell phone is undoubtedly buried in his duffel on the small table in the corner of the room. "Sam, if you're calling me _again, _so help me God," he mutters under his breath.

Since their angry exchange of words six months earlier, Sam had been steadily calling and leaving hasty voicemails. Dean's been rejecting his calls and deleting the voicemails left by him practically once a week since then, but over the past two days, the calls have been persistent. Not to mention super fucking annoying.

It isn't that he didn't want to talk to Sam. Hell, if anything, he wanted to talk to Sam too much. But Dean couldn't settle with a meager phone call every now and then. Dean needed Sam with him all of the time, or none of the time. There could be no in between.

And not to mention the demon's words still lingering in his head. He doesn't want anymore damn fights between him and his brother and just by having those foul accusations in his head, he could project them off to Sam and ruin everything _for good_.

Dean shakes his head, digging through his bag. He doesn't hate his brother... he could never, ever, _ever_ hate Sam, the boy he'd practically raised. But damn, if he wasn't jealous of the kid… Not to mention, extremely bitter. Because really, how couldn't someone be bitter after being ditched by someone you'd given everything for?

With a sharp huff of breath, Dean finds his phone and looks to the name on the screen. 'Bobby.'

Shit. That's just as bad as Sam.

Ever since that damn demon, Bobby had been trying to persuade Dean to talk about what it had said, and in turn, _feelings_. There was no way Dean Winchester, certified badass, was talking about his feelings, _especially _his feelings against his baby brother.

Regardless, he flips open his phone and answers. Rejecting phone calls from Bobby Singer is one way to land yourself six feet under in a hurry.

"'lo?" Dean says, unable to keep the lingering fatigue out of his voice.

"You damn idjit, what the hell have you been thinkin'?" Bobby yells breathlessly.

That wakes Dean up in a heartbeat, not to mention deafening him in the process. "Woah woah, Bobby, chill out. What's going on?"

"Chill out? _Chill out? _Damn, you better be grateful I can't reach through this goddamn phone boy, or you'd be-"

"Bobby!" Dean interrupts. Immediately, he regrets doing so. Interrupting Bobby Singer is another thing that you most definitely _do not _want to do. Before he could start yelling again, Dean continues. "What in the hell are you going on about?"

"Ya selfish dick, why have you been rejecting your brother's calls? Why?"

Dean's stomach drops. Oh no, it is seriously too damn early for Bobby to be bullying him into calling Sam. And anyway, how would Bobby know that he'd been denying Sam's calls? Unless…

"Did Sam put you up to this?" Dean sputters angrily. Sam had always been a stubborn son-of-a-bitch (he means that lovingly of course, because he can't deny that he's also quite the mule), of course he'd find some way to get through to Dean.

"For Christ's sake boy, have you got your head that far up your ass? Of course he didn't put me up to this! Hell, I haven't talked to the kid in months!"

"Then how do you know I've been rejecting his calls?"

"Because it's not Sam who's been trying to reach ya for the past two days. It's been the damn hospital!"

With that, Dean's heart stops and the breath he was taking catches in his throat. "What?" he asks breathlessly.

"Sam's apartment was set on fire, his girlfriend's dead 'cause of it, he's in the ICU, and you can't be bothered with any of it!"

"No, no, no, Bobby, you must've heard wrong, Sammy can't be-"

"Well he is. Now I don't give a flying fuck about the anger you've been feelin' towards your brother. You need to suck it up and be there for him, you hear me?"

Dean nods, mostly to himself, then musters out a simple 'Yes.'

"Good. Now I'm on my way over San Francisco Gen. so I'd advise that you high-tail your ass over here as soon as you can, unless you want it to be kicked into next Thursday."

"Yes, sir," Dean says quietly, still not quite believing in what he has just been told.

"Alright then. Oh and do me a favor and try to get a hold of your idjit dad, would ya? They've been trying him too, but he's just as big of a dick as you I guess."

With that, the line promptly goes dead. The cell phone remains glued to Dean's hand and he can't find it in him to move an inch.

Sammy's in the ICU? Sammy's in the ICU _alone_? Sammy's girlfriend died? Sammy's girlfriend died _in a fire? And I've been sitting around getting hammered and banging chicks while all of this was going down? _

Dean shakes his head, praying to the God he doesn't believe in to wake up, for this all to be some twisted nightmare. He even pinches himself, but it's apparent that he's not dreaming, that this is reality, no matter how utterly fucking _wrong_.

The next few minutes pass blearily as Dean quickly snaps out of his shock induced trance and begins gathering his possessions from around the room. When the dingy motel room is as he'd found it, he pulls out a worn pair of jeans and a plain grey Henley and underclothes. He's changed in under a minute and he quickly dives into the bathroom to brush his teeth as splash cool water on his face.

The second he's done, he bolts from the motel, stows away his duffel, and takes off for California.

It's about a full day of driving, Lubbock, Texas to San Francisco, but Dean's confident that he can make it in under that. He's a good driver, never gets lost, only pulls over for gas and coffee every few hundred miles. Not to mention all of the speed laws he can't be bothered to follow.

By the time he's passing through Albuquerque, New Mexico, the sun is high in the sky and the caffeine from his first coffee is wearing off. He decides to pull over at a 7/11 off of I-15. He enters the store and locates the coffee machine without hassle. While he's pouring himself a cup, the TV on a shelf behind the cashier's counter catches his attention.

"The fire that destroyed a Palo Alto apartment has been ruled arson and the police have determined a possible suspect."

Dean's eyes become fixed on the screen as he approaches the checkout line.

"Tony Ulysses, a junior at Stanford University and a close friend to Sam Winchester, was seen entering the apartment by eyewitnesses, minutes before the fire began.

"However, he was not on the scene when EMT's arrived, nor has his body been located amongst the ruble. A state-wide manhunt has gone under way for Ulysses and we strongly encourage anyone with information as to his whereabouts to notify the police."

Dean doesn't realize that he's gripping the counter so tightly until he looks down to find his knuckles sheet-white. He can't believe it, _any _of it. Sammy's friend, his own fucking friend, burned his apartment down? What the hell?

Tony's photo flashes on screen next, as well as a list of distinguishing characteristics. He's got short, dark hair and blue eyes, along with a strong build. He's described as being around 6'2 and said to be a soccer player. His major was law.

Dean stares at the photo, unbelieving that _he _could be capable of arson. Although Dean isn't sure of what a stereotypical arsonist looks like, this kid sure as hell doesn't fit the standard.

He dismisses it with the thought of 80-year-old bank robbers and 10-year-old murderers. Anyone can be a criminal with motivation and the right equipment.

But still, why would Sammy's friend want to burn down his apartment? What motivation could the guy have?

"Next."

The voice startles him, but he quickly steps forward. He sets his cup of coffee down, as well a pack of the sugariest gum he could find in a moment and a granola bar.

"Your total comes to $5.12."

Dean fishes for a five and some change. He slams down the bill and a quarter, quickly scooping up his purchases and mumbling, "Keep the change."

He's back in the car, then back on the road in a matter of seconds. He takes a long swig of steaming coffee just as he pulls onto the highway again, he'll need all of the caffeine he can get.

By around four in the afternoon, Dean's well into Arizona and wide-awake. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and he quickly pulls it out, hoping it to be his father returning the call he'd left him earlier in the day.

Alas, Dean's never quite that lucky. "Hey Bobby, what's up?"

"Where you at?"

"Arizona. I was leaving from Lubbock."

"Good to hear, I'm just passing through Salt Lake City. I called and told 'em you'd be there about the same time as me, so if I ain't there already, you ought to be set."

"Okay. I tried to get a hold of dad."

He can hear Bobby scoff from the other end. "And how'd that work out for ya?"

"He didn't pick up. I left him a voice message, told him to call me back pronto, that it was about Sammy."

"Well, good luck with him, I just hope he pulls through. We're gonna be needin' all the help we can get with Sam."

"Did you hear anything else about him?"

"Yeah, a nurse called me a little while ago." Bobby pauses, inhaling a deep breath. "Told me that he'd be transported from the ICU in a coupla hours, so long as he wakes up first."

Dean's stomach drops again. "Wakes up?"

"Yeah… they told me it was from all the stress, mixed with a concussion. It ain't a coma they told me, it's more like he's in a deep sleep, almost like a mini-hibernation, as dumb as it sounds."

Dean almost laughs. His Sasquatch of a brother is hibernating. The laugh dies in his throat however, when he realizes how bad his brother must be to be to shut down like that. "What else?"

Bobby hesitates, but before Dean can start worrying even more, he clarifies: "Damn hospital won't tell me much, besides the fact that his injuries were bad enough to land him in the ICU. They told me that they'd have the doc tell me the damage as soon as I could talk in person."

It does nothing to appease his mind. His Sammy, still all alone in the damn ICU. Hibernating. Instinctually, Dean's foot presses harder on the accelerator. "Okay, thanks Bobby. Keep me updated."

"Will do. Keep tryin' for your dad."

As soon as the call is ended, Dean dials his dad's number. After ringing twice, he's referred to his voicemail: "John Winchester, leave a message with your name and number and I'll get back to you."

"Dammit dad, pick up your phone!" Dean growls angrily. "Something happened to Sammy, we need you here. Just- just call me when you get this, would you?"

He tosses the phone into the passenger seat and pops another stick of sugary gum. He chews angrily and speeds down I-40, being extra careful to watch for police officers. The last thing he needs right now is a set back and a speeding ticket.

At nearly 10 P.M., Dean finally sees the sign that reads, "Now entering California." He breathes a breath of relief; it won't be too much longer now.

Past midnight, he finally turns off of I-40. Feeling himself beginning to come down from his adrenaline and caffeine induced high, he pulls over again at a mini-mart. He hastily buys two bottle of Mountain Dew (coffee for the light and liquor for the night, he'd always said, except this time he wouldn't even think about consuming alcohol) and darts from the store.

While unscrewing the cap in the parking lot, he pulls his phone from the passenger side and tries his father _again_. This time the phone doesn't even ring, it goes straight to voicemail. Dean doesn't bother leaving a message, only huffs angrily. "Fine, you don't want to be here for Sammy?" he mutters under his breath. "I'll just have to be there for the both of us."

With that, Dean gulps down half the bottle of pop and swerves back onto the road, preparing to take the next few hundred miles without stopping.

And although it's a cumbersome task, he does it and arrives in the bumbling city of San Francisco by mid-morning. Just as a sign welcomes him the city, his phone rings: "You there yet, Bobby?"

"Yeah, just pulled in. Where are you?"

"Just got into San Fran."

"Alright, I'll wait for you to talk to the doc."

Even in all of his anger towards the eldest brother, he'd still be willing to wait for him to visit Sam. The thought genuinely warms Dean's heart (not that he'd ever admit it; Dean Winchester, badass, remember?) but he passes it off casually with a 'thank you.'

"Yeah, just hurry your ass, would you? I didn't travel 1500 miles to wait in a waiting room for you, ya idgit."

"Okay, okay, I'll be there in 10 minutes."

"Building 5, 4th Floor, I'll be waiting in the lobby."

And ten minutes later, he's there, anxiously pacing in an empty elevator going up to the 4th floor.

When the elevator door opens, he nervously steps out and looks around. Before he knows it, there's a sharp smack on the back of his head. "Ow!" he says, turning sharply in the direction of the hit.

There, he's face to face with Bobby Singer, his 'uncle' who is actually probably closer to a father than anything else.

"Good to see you too, Bobby," Dean says, idly rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah yeah, damn idjit better be glad you got here or else I'd make good on my threat. But still, you ain't off the hook just yet. I mean, how the hell could you turn your back on Sam like that?"

Dean looks downward, unable to meet the older hunter's eyes. "I didn't know he was hurt, I just figured he wanted to try to work things out, that's why I ignored his calls."

Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose. "Damn you, that's not an excuse for ignoring him! I know you ain't in to all that touchy-feely crap, but wouldn't you at least try for the sake of keeping close to your brother?"

"I know, it's just… it's just not good enough for me to get a call from him every now and then. I guess I'm still kind of angry that he left me, after everything we've been through."

"For God's sake you bull, he didn't leave _you! _He left the _life! _That boy loves you more than anything and all he wanted to do was keep in touch. But you just couldn't be happy for him; you had to go make him feel like it's his fault his brother's pissed to hell and won't talk to him!"

The words freeze Dean's heart. Everything Bobby says, it makes sense, an alarming amount at that. Damn Dean and his stupidity, Sammy never wanted to be a hunter, but he was always proud to be Dean's brother. How didn't he see it before? Clarity consumes him and memories overtake him.

Everything the kid would do, he'd do it for Dean. No matter how reluctantly, he'd always trail along on hunts, just so Dean would have back up. When Dean was still in school, he would be sure to make sure both his and Dean's homework got completed. When Dean screwed up on a hunt (it was rare, but yeah, it happened), he would take the blame and the punishment from his drill-sergeant of a father. Hell, if that wasn't enough, in his own high school graduation speech as a valedictorian, he'd thanked Dean _by name_ for always sticking by him. And how did Dean repay him? He got jealous and angry, all because his Sammy wasn't his anymore.

Shaking his head somberly, Dean tries to ignore the sudden burn from behind his eyes. He digs his nails into his palm and looks up to Bobby. "I need to make it up to him."

That must be all the verification Bobby needs to know that Dean realizes how wrong he's been, because a second later he's patting him on the shoulder. "Damn right. Now let's go find him."

Dean nods and follows closely behind Bobby to the nurse's station. "We're here to see Sam Winchester."

The uninterested nurse's head snaps up sharply. "You are…?"

"I'm Bobby Singer, his uncle, and this-" he gestures to Dean, "is his brother Dean."

The nurse smiles and Dean doesn't even notice how pretty she is because his head is practically in another realm with guilt and worry. "I'll page for the doctor."

Bobby nods and tows Dean to the hall way where the doctor is sure to pop out of. A minute later, he is indeed strolling down the hallway and through the double doors.

"Mr. Singer and Mr. Winchester? Hello, I'm Dr. Jumper, I've been working with Sam for the past few days."

He extends a hand which Bobby, then Dean takes. "How is he?" Dean asks immediately.

"Let's discuss this somewhere more private," the doctor says, looking towards the staring people in blue plastic chairs.

Both Dean and Bobby nod and follow Dr. Jumper down a hallway and into a small room, which presumably serves as his office. Both men take a seat on the two cushioned chairs in front of the doctor's desk.

"As you both know, Sam came in nearly four days ago after a fire that burned down his apartment. His girlfriend… no, fiancée, Jessica could not be saved."

Dean's breath catches. Fiancée? Sammy proposed to her?

"Sam was found in the second story of the building, trying to save Jessica, but obviously being unable to do so. EMT's on the scene found him passed out from smoke inhalation with moderate to major burns covering his hands, arms, and torso. We also found him to have a concussion, odd bruising on his knuckles and face, and a fractured tibia.

"Police are currently trying to piece together what happened, but they'll need Sam's account as soon as he comes to. I believe an officer is down in the cafeteria right now actually, so if you want to hear what they have so far, nobody would be stopping you."

Disbelieving, Dean and Bobby turn to each other. Sam doesn't do anything half-assed. He's either got a little cut or a punctured lung; there's no in between for the kid.

"He'll be ok though, right?" Dean suddenly questions.

"Sam is young and very, very healthy, so I expect him to make a full recovery. It's the trauma he's endured that I'm worried about. Currently, we have no idea what his mental state is, given all that's happened to him. Hopefully, with the support of his family, he'll be able to move past this tragedy."

Bobby nods and Dean just stares sadly, not really trusting his voice. "Can we see him?" Bobby asks shakily.

"Of course," the doctor says, standing from his seat. "Follow me."

The two men trail anxiously until they arrive at the door of Room 603.

"He was taken out of the ICU earlier this morning when he began showing signs of responsiveness." He opens the doors a smidgen. "I'll leave you both to it."

With the doctors footfalls disappearing down the hallway, Dean carefully enters the room, Bobby at his heels.

The sight that greets them takes their breath away. "Oh God Sammy," Dean chokes out.

Sam is lying in at a slightly raised bed with his leg propped up. There's a cast around his shin and thick gauze wrapped around his arms, his hands, and much of his exposed midsection. A thin layer of gauze has been securely wrapped around his forehead and the rest of his face is littered with purple and blue, near his jaw is mostly ugly yellow-green.

But that's not even the worst. It's the fact that his eyes are closed and underneath the multitude of bruises his skin is sheet-white and clammy. He looks… _dead_.

Dean collapses into the chair set by Sam's bedside and nervously takes his bandaged hand. To his surprise, the movement causes Sam's head to unconsciously turn in his direction. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm here, Sammy," Dean mutters, feeling the stinging at the back of his eyes again.

Bobby moves around the room and finds another chair, which he pulls up next to Dean. They sit like that for awhile, occasionally making small talk and hoping that Sam will wake up soon.

Before either realize how long they've been sitting there, it's nearing afternoon. Dean begins to feel himself crashing again. "Hey Bobby, mind getting me some coffee?" he asks halfheartedly.

Bobby simply nods, muttering about getting thirsty anyway. He leaves the room and Dean is alone with Sam for the first time in over three years.

Sam has been becoming steadily more responsive, so Dean begins talking to him in hopes of rousing him awake. And because he knows that whence Bobby comes back, he'll have to shut his trap again (if you're gonna show emotion, don't do it with an audience!) "Been a long time since I've seen you, huh?" he says, unable to hide the sadness in his voice. "Three and a half years in another few weeks. And it's been almost six months since I've even talked to you."

"Sammy, I'm sorry. I really am. I've been a dick these past few months, ignoring you and all. Hell, I've been a dick longer than that. But you need to wake up, buddy. You need to wake up so you can deck me properly and so I can make it up to you."

Sam stays unmoving, breathing in a steady rhythm. Well at least there's that. At least he's breathing.

But for Dean, breathing isn't enough. "Please," he begs, not even bothering to keep the desperation from his voice.

And then miraculously at that one syllable word, he feels the hand he's been clinging to for the past several hours twitch, and then squeeze back.

Dean looks to their clasped hands with shock. "Sammy?" When Dean doesn't get a response, he continues on: "Sammy, if you can hear me, open your eyes. Come on kiddo."

Sam's pale eyelids flutter for a few agonizing seconds and finally, he opens his eyes, if only part way. The shining hazel is undoubtedly the most beautiful thing that Dean has ever seen.

"Hey buddy," Dean says affectionately, smoothing the hair away from Sam's eyes.

"D'n?" Sam questions in a gone-to-gravel voice.

"Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"L'k I got h't by a b's," he mutters weakly.

"Yeah I can believe it. So…" Dean pauses, wondering how to approach the subject of his girlfriend…_fiancée_…and the fire. There's silence for a moment while Sam takes in his surroundings and abundance of gauze, looking like a confused puppy. "How much do you remember?"

With his free hand, Sam gestures to his throat. "Wat'r?"

"Oh!" Immediately he looks around and finds a pitcher of water sitting by the window sill. He find a paper cup and fills it halfway before holding it to his brother's mouth.

Sam drinks greedily and Dean's relieved to see a little color flood back into his face, even underneath the blue and purple. Sam's eyes open fully and he clears his throat. Dean gives a grateful sigh when Sam's voice is normal again.

Dean's relief quickly does a complete 180 as Sam pales and his eyes widen. "Jess?" he stutters. "Oh my _God_."

Dean watches carefully as the terrible realization of what has happened sinks in. He knows that there isn't anything he can do, so he resorts to being there when the kid needs a shoulder to cry on.

"She isn't… she c_an't _be. Oh God Dean, please tell me she's not…"

"I'm sorry."

Dean prepares for the look and for the tears, but it does nothing to take the sting away when he finally does see them. He engulfs Sam in a hug, mindful not to disturb his bandages, and he lets his brother cry. The heart wrenching sobs break his heart and fuel his anger towards Sam's 'friend.' It's anger he barely realized was there until now.

He runs his fingers through his brother's hair and down his back, something that had worked to calm Sam down when they were younger. It does little to appease his brother's pain, however, and Dean finds himself sitting with Sammy buried in his shoulder for the better part of ten minutes. Not that he minds, no, he's glad he can be here for his brother.

When Sam finally pulls back, Dean doesn't release him so easily. There are still tears flowing down his cheeks and his lip is quivering. It's as if if Dean were to release Sam, he might slip away, he might lose himself like dad lost himself after mom died.

So Dean keeps a firm, yet gentle grasp on Sam's shoulders. "Don't worry Sam, we're gonna get the son-of-a-bitch that did this."

Abruptly, Dean regrets what he'd just said. Dammit! Sam doesn't want to hear about any fucking plot of revenge, he's in a goddamn hospital and his girlfriend just _died_!

Sure enough, Sam's face contorts in anger as he comprehends Dean's words. But much to Dean's surprise, Sam nods, if only weakly so. The words he utters next are even more surprising: "Evil bastard's taken too much from us," he starts. He doesn't catch Dean's look of confusion. "This ends _now._"

The mass of fury and sadness in Sam's eyes is enough to end Dean's world, but he can't help but feel confused. Us? What the hell does he mean, 'taken too much from us'?

While grabbing a tissue from the bedside table to wipe Sam's shining cheeks, Dean questions him: "Sammy, what did you mean that he's taken too much from us?"

_brotherly._

* * *

**A/N: **hello! i hope you enjoyed part two! i know this part was long and unless i go on another streak with part five, this will be the longest. i'm sorry if it was a bit slow or too detailed at times, i have a terrible tendency of giving way too much detail. well, on the up-side, at least you'll be able to picture the scenarios well (: well, i'll be updating again probably over the weekend because i'm still trying to adapt to high school, so check for part three on saturday or sunday! reviews are always appreciated and thank you to everyone who has let one so far (: thanks! xx


	3. Optimistic

**A/N: **sorry it's a bit late, i had a big project to work on over the weekend and i was loaded with homework yesterday! i hope you enjoy nonetheless!xx

* * *

The Bright Side

_To find hope_

_and to see light_

_is the greatest strength_

_one can possess._

_Sam Winchester _is

_"We can do that tomorrow, let's just get some sleep, yeah?" he smiles._

_Jess huffs out a breath, pretending to be annoyed. It's a failed attempt when Sam flashes his doe-eyes. "Ok-ay," she says, climbing into bed beside her fiancé. "But no more procrastinating from you or else we'll still be writing invitations on our honeymoon!"_

_Sam laughs and Jess snuggles into his side. "Good night, love," he says, kissing her forehead. _

_"Night, baby."_

_Sam extends his long arm and switches the bedside lamp off. He drapes an arm over his lover and begins to think of the future to come._

_The wedding, the honeymoon, college, graduation, maybe even kids someday. The life he's always wanted, the life he's dreamed about since he was just a kid, the life he finally gets to have._

_His breathing evens out and falls in-time with his wife-to-be and it's not long before he's off dreaming about something wonderful, something that's all his._

_Sam doesn't know what time it is, but it must be late because there's no light in the room except for a faint trace of moonlight. Why is he awake? He didn't have a nightmare, Jess is still sleeping next to him, and his alarm remains quiet. What woke him up?_

_A loud thud below the bedroom answers his question. "Shit, Tony," he mutters._

_Tony Ulysses was the first friend the Sam had at Stanford. He'd become practically like family in the three and a half years he'd been there. He was so reliable and friendly, not to mention he was practically Sam's twin. He was in Pre-Law, he lost contact with his family, and he enjoyed the game of soccer. The kid was smart and had friends, but he wasn't popular per say. He was overall a good person and Sam was grateful that he'd met him._

_The only downfall to Tony was his drinking habits. He liked to go out and get hammered at local bars at least once a week. Sam could understand why he constantly got drunk, Sam was there at one point too, trying to drown the loneliness with alcohol, so he offered him a hand._

_Sam and Jess's apartment was near a few of the bars in town, so Sam offered Tony a place to crash if he needed one. He gave him a spare key and told him that he could bunk on the couch whenever he liked. Jess of course had no trouble with accepting Tony as a guest. She was welcoming and Tony was charming._

_When he hears the crash in the kitchen below, he realizes that Tony must have got shit-faced. He sighs sadly; his friend had remained sober for about a month until tonight._

_He slides out of bed, deciding to be a good friend and comfort Tony. "What's wrong, baby?" Jess asks groggily._

_"Tony," is Sam's simple reply._

_"Oh," Jess replies sadly. "Want me to go down with you?" _

_"No, you just stay in bed, get some sleep."_

_"'Kay."_

_Sam trudges quietly down the hall and down the stairs. He walks through the living room, expecting to see Tony crashing on the couch. He glances towards the bathroom; its pitch black. Furrowing his brows, he sees the kitchen light flickering down the hallway._

_"Tony?" Sam yells cautiously. Feeling slightly uneasy, he wonders if maybe he should've snagged his .45 from the drawer next to his bed. _

_When he reaches the kitchen, the sight that greets him is nothing less than a shock. "Hello Sam," Tony says evenly as he runs his finger down the blade of a butcher's knife. A small trickle of blood spatters onto the marble countertop. _

_"Tony, what the hell are you doing?" Sam asks nervously._

_With that, Tony turns toward Sam and flashes a smile. He blinks and his eyes change from a deep blue to a repulsive shade of yellow that makes Sam's heart just about leap from his chest. _

_"N-no!" he stutters._

_Dropping the knife, Tony… the demon… rounds on Sam, punching him straight in the jaw. Surprised, he hits the floor with a thud and cracks his head against the cold tiled floor._

_The blow doesn't leave him down for the count, however, and he launches himself towards the demon and tackles him to the floor. He's able to get in a few direct hits, but he's too dizzy to dodge any that come his way._

_Before he knows it, Sam is pinned underneath his friend…the demon… and unable to fight back. "Well, well Sammy, long time no see, eh?" It brings its kneecap down on Sam's shin hard, crippling him._

_"Fuck you," Sam spits, trying to keep the pain from seeping into his voice._

_"Darling, I'm flattered," it says with fake enthusiasm._

_A sharp gasp from the doorway catches Sam's attention. "Sam!"_

_Shit. Shit! "Oh and this must be sweet little Jessica, am I right Sammy boy?"_

_"Sam… Tony… what's going on?"_

_"Just having a fun little reunion with my old friend. Care to join?" He flashes her an evil smirk._

_"Jess, get upstairs, lock the door! Call 911!"_

_Looking reluctant, Jess hurries down the hallway and back up the stairs. _

_"Awe, I was hoping to have some fun with her," it says with mock disappointment._

_Fighting with the growing dizziness and fatigue, Sam is able to manage an only slightly slurred sentence. "Do wha'ever you want width me, but don't 'urt Jessica." _

_Cruelly, it says, "Oh Sammy, that's no fun!" _

_"Don't," Sam breathes dangerously._

_"Or what? You'll punch me? You'll shoot me? Give it your best shot, kiddo!"_

_The bark of laughter it releases is enough to make Sam's gut clench in fury. With the last bit of energy he's got, he pushes the demon off of him and scurries backward to the wall. By the time he looks up to where he'd just been laying, the demon has disappeared._

_Just as he realizes what that means, a loud shriek rings in his ears._

_"Jess!" he shouts. In an adrenaline rush, Sam finds his legs and rushes as fast as he can up the stairs and to the bedroom. He tries the door knob, but it won't budge (whether because of the demon or because Jess had followed Sam's directions, he never knew) so he kicks in the door with his good leg._

_Smoke, everywhere there is smoke. Blood dripping onto the bed and a dropped landline. A demon grinning madly near the window. His fiancée pinned to the ceiling. "No!" he yells. _

_In a split second, a mild fire turns wild and flames practically engulf him. "Jess!" He jumps onto the blood sodden bed (hard to believe that he'd been sleeping there less than a half an hour ago, huh?) and tries to pry Jessica from the ceiling. "Please baby!"_

_The flames lick at his arms and chest as he desperately tries to save his beloved. "S-sam," she mutters, gasping for breath. Outside sirens blare and Sam only hopes they can save them in time. _

_"I'm here, okay? I'm gonna save you, we're gonna be fine," he says, noticing the hopelessness in his voice. Tears prick at his eyes and the intensity of the flames make them impossible to contain._

_"Sam," she says, just as her eyes slide closed. _

_"No Jess, no!" he cries, just as she bursts into flames._

_The force of the fire sends him flying backward onto the floor. With the adrenaline dissipating, he feels in full force the pain as his head cracks against the hardwood, as well as the burns littering his entire upper body._

_A peal of horrifically cold laughter sounds from the window. "I'll be seeing you soon, Sam Winchester." Just as it smashes the window open and takes the two story dive, Sam finds himself unable to breathe. Whether from the smoke, the pain, or from the horror of the situation, he's not really sure of. _

_Actually, he finds himself unsure of many things as he loses his grip on reality. The longer he lies on the warm ground, the more unsure of everything he becomes. Just before he completely fades away, he hears frantic muffled voices, but then again, he can't be sure that they're really there._

As Sam finishes his recount, Dean stares at him, wide-eyed. He doesn't realize he's begun to cry again until he feels Dean wiping away the moisture on his cheeks.

"God, Sammy, I'm so sorry," Dean whispers.

Sam shakes his head. "Not your fault," he mumbles. His voice is so raw and weak and utterly _pathetic _that he decides to stop talking until he can get his brave face on again.

"I should've been there for you. I shouldn't have ignored you like I did. I- I was just so damn angry over _nothing_ and… I'm so sorry."

Sam raises his arms to draw his brother into another hug. Dean willingly obliges and they sit again, silent, hugging, just enjoying each other's company. Sam missed Dean every second while he was at Stanford. And no matter how much he loved Jess, she could never _ever _replace Dean.

Sam swears he can hear sniffling, but he reasons that it's just the machines they've got him hooked up to. Although he doesn't know of any medical machine that makes a sniffling sound, it couldn't possibly be coming from his older, stoic brother.

Alas, Dean pulls back and there are faint tear tracks running down his cheeks. Before Sam can question him, Dean warns, "You tell anyone that you've got me crying like a chick, so help me God." His heart isn't in the threat, however, and he smiles good-naturedly. And despite everything Sam had just been through, everything he just lost, he returns the smile.

Because even though he's just lost his girl, his apartment (he'll never call it home… the Impala with Dean is the only home he's ever known), and his education, at least he's got his brother back.

_optimistic._

* * *

**A/N: **thank you for reading part three! i know it's muuuuch shorter than Dean's part and a tad shorter than Bobby's, but i SWEAR i'll make it up! i already have the character for part four picked out, but if you want to give me an idea of who to use for part five, that would be awesome! for part five, i'm willing to use Sam again, or somebody entirely different, so give me your input and i'll start writing after i'm done looking over part four, which will most likely be up by friday! thanks again (: xx


	4. Devoted

**A/N: **uploaded right on time! not much to say up here, but enjoy the story! (: xx

* * *

The Bright Side

_Even when_

_contaminated by rage, _

_there are some things_

_that will always be more important._

_John Winchester _is

"So you're sayin' that it was a _demon _who got Sam's girl?" Bobby asks outlandishly.

"Yeah, it was possessing one of Sam's friends. It must've broken in, attacked him, and then started the fire."

"You're sure?"

"That's the only thing that makes any damn sense, Bobby." John tries to keep the frustration out of his tone, but he's always had a short temper. "Not to mention, I checked out the scene and there was sulfur all over the damn place."

Bobby huffs out a deep breath. "Great. As if the kid doesn't have enough on his plate without a damn demon being behind all of it."

John nods, feeling his anger dissolve into sadness for his youngest. Sammy didn't deserve any of this. He just wanted out and he ended up with a dead fiancée, no home, a demon on his tail, and shit-ton of stress.

"How did he look when you saw him?" John questions quietly.

"Beat to hell."

"I'll bet."

"Why don't you go up to see him?"

John gestures bitterly to his apparel: a black blazer with matching black khakis, a white button up, a simple red tie, shiny pointed dress shoes, and a badge barely visible by his suit coat. "Looks kinda odd when an FBI agent keeps visiting a patient he ain't supposed to know, huh?"

Bobby grumbles, but agrees nonetheless. "You could drop the act…"

"Too late, the cops around here already know my face. So do the nurses and Sammy's doctor."

"When's the last time you seen those boys?"

"Well I just saw Sam a few hours ago…"

"Not like that, ya bloody idgit. I mean, when's the last time you had a face-to-face conversation with 'em?"

"It's been about three months since I've seen Dean and about… well damn, I haven't talked to Sammy since he left."

"Shit, John," Bobby grouches. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a long minute. When he begins to speak again, his tone is low and dangerous. "Listen to me and listen good, you hear? Okay, now I don't give a rat's ass about your damn 'disguise.' What I do care about, is the fact that you got one son hurtin' and hurtin' bad and another son feeling guilty as all hell. And that's all you should care about."

John can't meet the older man's gaze, but nods towards the table instead. If there's one person who can boss him around (that's a strong if!), it's Bobby Singer.

Both men stand simultaneously and make their way over to the glass door exiting the café. "Dammit," Bobby breathes.

"What is it?"

"Gotta get your idgit son a coffee 'fore he falls asleep on Sam."

John finds himself smiling. It's an odd time to be smiling, but he can't help the tired grin from slipping onto his face. After three and a half years, as well as three months, he's finally going to see his boys.

"Let's go," John says confidently as Bobby walks back with a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

In less than five minutes, the men are walking down the hall way that leads to Sam's fourth story room. Before they even enter the room, they hear a quiet conversation proceeding. When a small bout of quiet laughter rings out, Bobby smiles and elbows John. "I betcha Dean's the only one who could make that kid laugh after all he's been through."

John nods, feeling pride surge through him.

Finally they reach the room and quietly enter. Distracted by his younger sibling, Dean doesn't notice the two men's entrance. Sam, however, does. "Bobby? _Dad?_"

Dean's head turns so fast that John silently prays the boy doesn't get whiplash. "Hey boys," he says, taking in the scene.

Although still in rough shape, Sam looks a helluva lot better than the last time he'd seen him. Some of the pallor of his skin has vanished and he looks more alive, despite the heavy bandaging on a good 40% of his body.

He's sitting up, slightly leaning towards where Dean sits flush against the metal framing of the bed. John notices their intertwined hands and feels grateful. Even if he can't always be around, he's thankful that Sam's got Dean and that Dean's got Sam.

The silence isn't necessarily uncomfortable, it's more or so… confused. "Found him in the cafeteria," Bobby suddenly says. "He's been here for the past two days."

Before John can say anything, Sam puts on his puppy-dog eyes and mutters, "Dad?"

Oh dear God, how does he stand a chance at keeping up his iron giant façade when _his_ son is looking at him with such relief and hope with and an undertone of that deep, all-too-familiar sadness? How's he gonna keep a straight face, seeing _his _boy's watering hazel eyes for the first time in three damn years?

He doesn't know when or how, but _somehow _he's at Sammy's bedside, pulling him into a gruff, but gentle hug. "Missed you, son."

John doesn't do hugs and he sure as hell doesn't say dewy crap like _that, _but he can't resist. Hell, for those first few hours after he got to the hospital, he though Sammy was a goner. Not to mention, he hasn't seen the kid in three years! John isn't all for sappy emotions, but for his son (well, _both _of his sons really, but Dean is just as against the chick-flick bullshit as him; Sam's the sucker for lovey-dovey), he can definitely make an exception. And it's definitely worth it when he hears Sam's muffled response, "I missed you too, dad."

He starts to pull away, but stays close to his youngest. He puts a firm hand on his forearm, being wary of the gauze. "You really had me scared there, Sammy. How are you feeling?"

Sam nods his head lightly. "Not too bad you know, considering…" his voice breaks off and John knows what he's thinking.

John pats his shoulder and makes his way over to the other side of the bed where Dean is still sitting, holding on to Sam's hand. "Hey, Dean."

Dean stares up at him from the chair, a glint of anger, but mostly relief present in his eyes. "Have you really been here all this time?" he asks evenly.

John nods, hoping that if Dean needs to blow up, he'll at least wait until Sam's sleeping again. Dean releases Sam's hand, patting it, before standing to face John. Before being able to comprehend what his boy is doing, Dean's arms are wrapped loosely around John's shoulders. Immediately, John hugs him back, but can't fend off confusion. When did Dean start initiating hugs?

But it's short-lived, because after a brief minute, Dean is pulling away. "Just… just thanks, dad."

John's confusion elevates. "For what?"

"For being here for Sammy, while I was out being a jackass."

"If ya ask me-" Bobby's voice makes them jump. "-you're both a pair of jackasses."

While Dean returns to his seat next to Sam and resumes the hand-holding that wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for Sam, John just nods. Sam stares through his heavy lid curiously at the three, not quite sure at what in the hell they could be getting at.

"Gotta agree, I was being quite that jackass myself."

"But at least you were…"

John interrupts his oldest. "Yeah, I was here, but that doesn't make up for the shit I've done… or I guess _haven't _done in the past three years."

The two men are interrupted by a quiet yawn. "You tired, Sammy?" Dean asks instantly.

"Yeah, m'tired."

"You can go to sleep now. You've had a long day."

"You'll be 'round when I wake up?" Sam asks fighting with drooping eyelids.

"' course, I'm not leaving you again, Sam."

Sam gives a tired nod and promptly falls asleep, still holding on to Dean's hand.

John finds himself feeling that bumbling pride welling up again. Even if they didn't grow up under the best circumstances, at least his boys always had each other.

Bobby startles him from where he'd been standing, holding out a chair. "Thanks," John says gratefully, taking a seat on the old plastic thing across the bed from Dean.

When seated in his previous seat next to Dean, Bobby begins to speak. His tone is somber and John instantly knows that he's bringing up their conversation in the cafeteria. "So, your dad's got some hint as to what did this to Sam. Care to share, John?"

John grumbles his dismay, but starts on his theory. "It was a demon. I think what it did was possess one of Sammy's friends, break into his apartment, and then set the fire. I've got no idea what its motives were, but we'd all better be careful. That damn thing's still out there and I'm sure it's pissed to all hell that it didn't get Sam in that fire."

As soon as John finishes, Dean abruptly shakes his head. "It didn't want to kill him."

Bobby and John simultaneously look to Dean. "What?" they ask at once.

"Sam told me what happened… you aren't gonna like it."

"Sam's in a damn hospital with a dead fiancée and a burnt to ash apartment, I already don't like it."

A quiet whimper escapes from Sam and Dean glares towards his father.

"Keep it down, would you?" John nods and a stony feeling begins to grow in his gut as Dean draws in a deep breath. "It was… God dammit, it was the same bastard that killed mom. It was Yellow-Eyes."

There's a pause where everything must freeze. Time, space, life, death, the whole nine yards must cease to proceed.

"What?" John says evenly, pretending that he hadn't heard what Dean had just said.

"It came into his apartment, fought him off, then killed Jessica…the same way it killed mom… and then it torched the place."

John shakes his head, staring numbly at the ground. How? How could he let this happen? It's bad enough he was torn apart by that damn demon, now it's gone and done it to Sam?

A wave of fury passes through him suddenly, so much so that he can barely keep himself from turning violent. But one look to his sleeping, injured, most likely shattered son keeps his anger from breaking loose. Gritting his teeth, he asks, "You're sure? 100%?"

"Yes, dad. I'm absolutely positive that we're dealing with Yellow-Eyes again."

"Shit," he spews, minding his volume. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"John," Bobby warns warily.

"I've-I've gotta get out of here. Gotta get some air, gotta do _something_."

Both Dean and Bobby nod as the elder Winchester departs the room in a hurry.

"Hate to ask, but do you mind-"

"Makin' sure he don't hurt himself or some poor bastard? Already on it," Bobby says, standing to follow after John.

Meanwhile, John has already scaled a flight of stairs (if you get cornered in an elevator, you're _fucked_) and passed a few nervous bystanders who know from sheer instinct that they don't want to get in this man's way.

When he's finally at floor level and bursting out of the exit door, he sinks hard to his knees on the asphalt. He smacks the ground with his fists and lets a string of obscenities flow from his mouth. It takes all of the willpower he has to refrain from hopping in his truck and going to hunt the evil son-of-a-bitch _right fucking now. _But he knows that he can't. He can't abandon Sammy, not right now. He's the only who's been in his place before, the kid's gonna need his help, his advice (well, mostly his advice on what not to do, since he was a pro at fucking himself up after the fire.)

Even if Sam seems fine now, John knows how rocky the road is gonna get. He didn't start _really_ grieving and comprehending the immensity of Mary's death until a week after it happened. John isn't for certain when it will start for his youngest, but it'll undoubtedly happen soon, so he's got to be there for him.

And as much as he'd love to be tracking down his wife's and now his son's fiancée's killer, Sammy is much, much more important. Even after everything he'd put his kids through, they'll still be his number one priority.

_devoted._

* * *

**A/N: **i bet y'all didn't expect that little twist (; yeah, it seems like everyone hates John and thinks he's such an awful, cruel father, but i don't exactly see it like that. sure, John has abandoned his boys an left them to fend for themselves (multiple times!) but he's always cared and he's always loved them more than everything. even when he wasn't around, he had their best interests in mind. John wasn't the perfect father, but he definitely wasn't the heartless bastard that some people make him out to be. okay, okay, enough with my little rant! i really hoped you enjoyed this little twist and i hope it tied up any loose ends up to this point! i still have one more part and i still need to pick a character to base it upon. as i said previously, i'm willing to do another one on Sam or an entirely different character, so **please **give me feedback as to who you'd like to see in part five! r&r and thanks so much as always! xx


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